Losers Weepers
by mooyoo
Summary: When they were young, their games always ended in shouts and fistfights.


**Title:** Losers Weepers  
**Fandom:** Prison Break  
**Characters:** Michael, Lincoln  
**Prompt:** 050: Spade  
**Word Count:** 1,099  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** When they were young, their games always ended in shouts and fistfights.

**Disclaimer:** Paul Scheuring and a whole lot of other people who aren't me own _Prison Break_.

When they were young, their games always ended in shouts and fistfights. Whatever they played, things would always turn sour at some point, usually when one would accuse the other of cheating, and the arguments would escalate from there.

Often it was Michael throwing around accusations of cheating, shooting glares at his brother anytime Lincoln won a round of cards, landed on Free Parking, or sunk Michael's battleship. At seven-years-old, Michael left a scar on Lincoln's shoulder after a particularly intense game of Uno, proving to their mother, who hadn't believed it possible, that even the most colorful, friendly-looking game could turn violent when played by the two of them.

Lincoln took the first round, giving himself a round of applause and Michael a triumphant sneer. Michael glowered and said nothing, snatching the cards away and demanding a rematch. Lincoln went on to take rounds two and three as well, sticking his tongue out after the second victory and whooping with delight after the third, making Michael more and more furious by the minute.

"That's not fair," Michael whined after Lincoln dropped down his last Uno card for the fourth time.

Lincoln rolled his eyes and gathered up the used cards. "You just don't like losing."

"No, you cheated," Michael accused, refusing to give up hold of the dozen cards in his hand.

"Did not," Lincoln shot back as he reached for Michael's cards, and Michael held them to his chest. "You're such a sore-loser!" Lincoln huffed.

Michael looked scandalized. "I am not! You're a sore-winner!"

"You don't even know what that means."

"Yeah I do. And you cheated!"

"Would you shut up?" Lincoln growled, reaching across Michael in an attempt to wrestle the cards away. "I don't wanna play with you anymore. Gimme the cards!"

He punched Michael in the shoulder and Michael grimaced. Then he threw the cards at Lincoln. They fluttered through the air and bounced off of Lincoln's head before settling like fallen leaves on the floor around the pair.

"Fine! I don't wanna play with a cheater anyway!" Michael shouted, kicking awkwardly at Lincoln.

Lincoln glared at Michael and shoved him backwards onto the floor, where Michael lay for a moment before springing up and lunging at his brother.

"Cheater!" Michael shrieked as he tackled Lincoln to the floor.

Michael managed to get a hold of Lincoln's arms and bit his shoulder, sinking his teeth down sharply until his tasted blood and sputtered at the salty flavor. Lincoln yelped and grabbed a fistful of Michael's hair, yanking his head back.

"I am not!" Lincoln shouted right into Michael's face and kneed him in the stomach.

"Are too," Michael coughed, scratching at Lincoln's arm. He scrambled up far enough to slam a foot down on Lincoln's shin before leaping up and dashing out of the room, screaming, "Mom! Lincoln's cheating again!"

"He's lying!" Lincoln shouted, pushing himself off the floor to run after his brother, leaving the deck of cards strewn across the floor.

It was years before their games calmed down, morphing from simple rowdy fun to a way of quietly passing time in a parallel of their mother's declining health; the more sick she became, the more quiet the both of them grew, and there were many long afternoons spent hanging around hospital waiting rooms with nothing but a deck of cards and each other.

Most days towards the end of their mother's life were quiet and dull, and filled with stupid card games and worried glances back and forth. Lincoln taught Michael how to play poker, gin, twenty-one, rummy, and several others. Only once did a game dissolve into an argument.

"You're cheating," Michael said quietly after he won his fourth hand in a row.

Lincoln glanced up at him, then back down at the cards he was shuffling.

"What're you talking about?" he asked as he started dealing another game of gin. "How could I be cheating? You keep winning."

"You're letting me win," Michael argued. He stared Lincoln down and didn't make a move to pick up his cards from the table in front of him.

"I am not," Lincoln replied, arranging the cards in his hands. "Would you just play?"

Michael glared at him. "No, you're _cheating_."

"Shut it," Lincoln barked. "I told you, I'm not. Can't we just play?"

"I don't want to play if you're just going to let me win."

"I'm not! You think I wanna lose?"

"Yes you are, I don't want you to let me win!"

"God, Michael, what's the big deal?" Lincoln sighed, throwing the cards down onto the table where they smacked and bounced lightly before settling. Michael didn't flinch, continuing to glare at his brother, and Lincoln couldn't figure out why Michael was getting so bent out of shape – he was _winning_, and Michael hated to lose, he should be happy. It was further proof that his brother made absolutely no sense, and Lincoln got increasingly irritated about Michael's lack of gratitude.

"Stop being a jerk and just play fair!" Michael shouted.

"You're the one being a jerk," Lincoln shot back angrily, kicking the table in frustration. "You're whining about winning, who does that?"

"I'm not whining," Michael whined, kicking the table back in Lincoln's direction.

Lincoln leapt out of his chair and charged towards his brother, ready to turn the fight into a physical one and show Michael what a baby he was being, when a nurse popped into the room to admonish them and remind them that there were people around here who needed quiet, including their mother who was trying to sleep a few doors down. Both boys immediately shrunk back from her, and Lincoln sunk back down into his chair with a guilty twist in his stomach.

"You get mad when you lose, you get mad when you win," Lincoln sighed, looking up at Michael, who sat with his head hanging and his hands shaking in his lap. "What the hell do you want me to do?"

"I don't want you to let me win just to be nice or something 'cause you think I'm sad," Michael replied softly, staring at the cards laid out across the table between them. "She's your mom too. You deserve to win just as much as me."

Lincoln considered that for a moment and then ducked his head and stared at the cards as well.

"Yeah," he agreed softly. "No more cheating from anyone, okay?"

Michael nodded stiffly and turned to look out the doorway while Lincoln started gathering up the cards to shuffle and start the game again.

**-end-**


End file.
